


When My Love Reaches To Me

by tfc



Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing
Genre: (That Was Weird To Write), Alternate Universe - Fae, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Gonta Doesn't Talk In Third Person, M/M, Shuichi Doesn't Do His Job, Title from a Hozier Song
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-14
Updated: 2019-08-14
Packaged: 2020-08-23 07:50:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,843
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20239315
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tfc/pseuds/tfc
Summary: “You realize it’s dangerous, right?”“Of course I do. I’m not stupid.”“You almost had it, you know. Why’d you stop?”“I felt bad. I wanted to help.”“That’s not your job.”“I know.”“Ouma’s not gonna be very happy with you.”“I know.”





	When My Love Reaches To Me

The grass is soft beneath his feet as he runs—he’d been running for a while, and he doesn’t necessarily want to stop anytime soon. The other children from the village are coming after him, teasing him about crying over one of the older boys crushing a ladybug beneath his foot. He doesn’t think it’s fair, not fair at all; they have so many more advantages, and really, should anyone be hurting something so helpless?

He’s a lot smaller than the rest of the boys, but his mother says he’ll get taller soon, he’s only little, after all. The boys chasing him are well aware of how small he is, too, and they’re not exactly the nicest about it. Why should they? He’s an easy victim, too scared of bothering anyone to tell on them, anyway.

Unfortunately, there’s a rogue tree branch in his path, and he falls, skidding to a stop in the dirt; his momentary panic at how dirty his sleeves are is interrupted by a kind hand offering to help him up. “Are you alright?” someone asks, and he stands, nodding. The boy helping him up looks to be about his age and is even smaller than he is. “That’s good. I’m glad you’re okay. Can I have your name?”

“Mama says I’m not supposed to talk to strangers,” he says as he eyes the other boy warily. The boy doesn’t look normal, either. Unnaturally blue hair, ears just a bit too pointy to be human, clothed in a tunic that had gone out of fashion years ago, before he’d been born, probably. “But thank you for your help.”

The boy beams at him, then the smile dampers once the puffiness around his eyes has been noticed. “Why have you run from the village?” he asks gently, a hand settled softly on the other’s shoulder. He feels his face heat up in embarrassment at the question, and he turns away. “I can’t help if you don’t tell me what’s wrong.”

“The other children...they were so mean, a-and I couldn’t do anything to help,” he mumbles. He looks back up at the strange boy, hurt and frustrated confusion radiating from his expression. “I wanted to do something, b-but they just laughed at me for getting sad...I just didn’t think it was okay for them to hurt something so little…”

“You felt like you couldn’t help, that you couldn’t protect those that deserved it,” the strange boy says, but it’s not phrased as a question. He nods. “I think I can help with that.” With that, the boy winks and cups his cheek, pressing a gentle kiss to his forehead.

He pouts. “That didn’t do anything!” he protests, then he hears branches snapping and he panics. “I-I have to go.”

Without waiting for an answer, he dashes off. He doesn’t notice the boy giggle before disappearing back into the woods. When he gets home, his mother is worried, especially when she sees his dirty sleeves. He cries, not because he’s scared anymore, but because he’s relieved to be home.

*****

_ “You realize it’s dangerous, right?” _

_ “Of course I do. I’m not stupid.” _

_ “You almost had it, you know. Why’d you stop?” _

_ “I felt bad. I wanted to help.” _

_ “That’s not your job.” _

_ “I know.” _

_ “Ouma’s not gonna be very happy with you.” _

_ “I know.” _

*****

The next time he sees the boy, he’s just barely a teenager. He’s much taller now, he towers over most of the adults in the village. He’s bigger now, too, shoulders broad, and he has enough strength that the lumberjacks in town keep jokingly asking him when he’s going to join their team. Though, he doesn’t think he could ever feel fully alright with chopping down trees.

There’s still whispers through his village; neighbors talk about the boy that stopped growing brown hair and keeping it tidy, instead letting it grow dark green and wild. Not that he exactly has a choice on that. It just sort of...happened...one day. He found that he  _ couldn’t _ cut it, though not for lack of trying. His hair is just past his shoulder blades now. He usually keeps it up.

All of the gossip had caused his parents to pull him out of schooling for fear he’d grow angry and hurt one of his tormentors. As if he could hurt a fly. He’d much rather not, as a matter of fact—since his hair had grown out, it felt as though lots of helpless creatures had flocked to him, whether it had been an injured rabbit or just a few butterflies coming to rest atop his shoulders. It was pleasant, though his peers had taken to comparing him mockingly to a fairytale princess. He doesn’t mind.

He’s wandered off again, into the forest. He likes spending time here; ironically, he feels much more at home here than he does in his family’s big estate. The trees have grown thicker over the years, as has the brush along the forest floor, but the paths are still familiar. He stumbles over a tree branch, a feeling of deja-vu washing over him as someone catches his arms in their own.

That boy from all those years ago is standing before him, hair now a duller blue, yellow eyes flecked with gold and kindness, a smile curling his lips. “Well, well, well,” he says softly, and his voice sounds like the piano in town square playing during the festival, “I never thought I’d get the chance to see you here again. I’m glad I made sure I would recognize you.”

He stands back up, trying to suppress the chill that runs down his spine. “I think I remember you,” he says uneasily. “Thank you for catching me...again.” The boy merely chuckles, and the sound makes the tips of his ears feel hot.

“You’ve grown since I saw you last,” the boy tells him. There’s something strangely wistful in his voice. A gentle hand cups his cheek. “Can I perhaps have your name this time? We’re no longer strangers, you know.” There’s somewhat of a teasing tone in that last statement, but it’s not the malicious teasing he’s used to.

Instead of answering, he looks away. “I don’t think I know yours,” he says. “A-And you wouldn’t want to know my name anyway.” Having already come all this way, he decides his trip will be a waste if he doesn’t at least stay for a while. He sits on a nearby stump and remains silent.

“What’s bothering you?” the boy asks, sitting next to him on a sturdy branch that he’s fairly sure hadn’t been there before. “I’m sure I can help this time, too.” His cheeks go red as he remembers the gentle kiss from so long ago. The boy giggles.

“I come into the woods a lot,” he tells the boy. He avoids his eyes—he’s afraid they’ll keep him there forever if he’s not careful.

The boy nods sagely. “Yes, but never this far, poppet,” the boy murmurs, and he feels his face flush. A feather-light touch on his arm calms him, seemingly with no effort. He sighs, long and tired. “What has you so deeply troubled?”

He worries at his lip. The boy  _ looks _ trustworthy, sure, but he’d also thought the inventor girl had been, and that had just ended in disaster. “You shouldn’t worry,” he says in lieu of an actual answer, “I’m sure you have your own problems.”

“Well, of course I do,” the boy says, much to his surprise, “but that doesn’t mean I don’t want to help you, poppet.” Again, his cheeks feel hot, and the boy laughs, the sound of it filling the air around them.

“They think I’m stupid,” he says after a long pause. The boy looks startled at the admission, but motions for him to continue. “I don’t go to school with everyone else. I can’t talk like they can, a-and I have a hard time keeping up with things sometimes.”

“You also have trouble saying no, don’t you?” the boy asks, and he nods. Another gentle kiss is pressed against his forehead. He doesn’t bother trying to stop the warmth that spreads across his cheeks. “Come here, poppet.” He’s suddenly resting his head in the boy’s lap, the boys hands lacing through his hair, soft, gentle tugs lulling him to the comfortable embrace of sleep.

*****

_ “You’re watching him again.” _

_ “...And?” _

_ “I dunno. I just thought…” _

_ “Thought what?” _

_ “I guess I just figured you had it this time. Now he’s got a nickname.” _

_ “What’s your point?” _

_ “No need to get defensive.” _

_ “...I’m not being defensive.” _

_ “Ha, alright then. Hey, can I ask you something?” _

_ “Sure.” _

_ “Do you want to be friends with him?” _

_ “...That’s not my job.” _

_ “I know.” _

*****

He awakens in his bed at home, not completely sure of how he’d ended up there. Perhaps his encounters with the boy have been dreams. It wouldn’t be unlike him to dream such a wild thing.

But his dream seems less like one as some of his fellow townspeople go missing; first, it’s his neighbor, a lovely girl that loved to dance her fingers across the keys of the piano in town square no matter the occasion, then a headstrong boy who he remembers as his defender a fair few times, though he had been a bit harsh at times. An adult disappears too, a charismatic man that had run for mayor a few times before. His apprentice, a dutiful girl, takes over his estate.

So many disappearances in the span of just a few years, so many gone that, as a result, his parents have forbid him from going into the woods. It’s frustrating, truly, to be confined to the village. He’s grown even taller and stronger, though, he can defend himself, he doesn’t understand why he can’t leave. He hears some say that he’s their best line of defense from an unseen threat. However, there’s a term that seems to spill from everyone’s lips, a possible explanation for the strange disappearances, one that can’t be real, but one that everyone seems to agree on.

_ The fae. _

He’s heard the word before, read it in fairytales and myths he’d taken from his mother’s library, but they weren’t real. Like dragons and witches, they  _ had _ to be made up. But perhaps the explanation isn’t as crazy as it seems. The mention of them at the dinner table is enough to get him sent to his room without argument, and his parents are pretty reasonable people.

But he’s itching to get back into the woods.

Maybe it’s the feeling of freedom that comes with dipping his legs in the rushing water of a stream, maybe it’s the way the dew-covered grass lets him run faster and faster until he’s grabbing trees to slow himself down and laughing with delight, maybe it’s the hope that after so long, he’ll see the boy again, the one that seems to haunt him in his dreams, whispering lovely promises of independence and eternal happiness.

He slips out of his bedroom window one night, ready to leave the confines of his little village and slip into the safety of the woods. He’s caught at the edge of town by a guard, a woman warrior much shorter than him but with just as admirable strength, and dragged back to his parents. He gets an earful that night about being more careful, about  _ how dare you _ ’s and  _ don’t ever’ _ s.

He’s much more careful not to get caught the next night. The wind feels amazing—it runs through his hair, which is even longer now—and the crisp, clean air of the woods makes him feel at home. Coming to a clearing, he stops and settles down on a fallen tree, smiling down at a few ants that crawl near his fingers.

“I hadn’t expected you here so soon, poppet,” his boy says, now older, aged just like he has, though he hasn’t grown much. His face looks...wiser. More charming. His boy settles down next to him, careful not to disturb the ants. “I was afraid you wouldn’t come back. Can I have your name now, after all this time?”

“I’m fine with poppet,” he says softly, and his boy laughs, a quiet, tinkling sound. It feels more...ethereal than when they had last spoken. “My parents...the village...they don’t want anyone in the woods anymore. I’ve been at home.”

“And you don’t like being confined, do you?” his boy asks, and he shakes his head. “That’s alright, neither do I. I like the forest quite a lot, too. Are you having a hard time, poppet? Anything you need my help with?”

The thought of asking for another forehead kiss makes his face heat up, but he asks for one nonetheless, and his boy laughs that melodic laugh and pulls him down to press a kiss to the flushed skin. “Thank you,” he mumbles, and his boy tells him to think nothing of it. “I don’t think I’ve ever met someone like you. Are you a fae?”

Sure, his questioning is blunt, but he’s not much good with words anyway. “Why yes,” his boy tells him with a grin. His teeth are slightly pointy, though that does little to dampen the beauty of the smile. He has to wonder why the answer had been so quick, but perhaps his boy trusts him just as much. “But you don’t have to be afraid, I’m pretty much harmless.”

“A-And you won’t try to trick me? Like they do in the fairytales?” he asks, and his boy giggles, shaking his head. He relaxes, tension leaving his shoulders. He might be too trusting for his own good, but if his boy had been trying to fool him, wouldn’t he have done it already? His boy smiles gently at him and lays a hand atop his. He laces their fingers together. His boy’s hand is so much smaller than his own. Surely he couldn’t hurt him. “The sun is coming up. I should head back.”

“You could stay with me, if you’d like, poppet,” his boy offers. “You’d just have to give me your name.” There’s a teasing smile, but there’s nothing malicious in his boy’s gaze. Maybe there’s hope there, if he dares to think it.

He smiles sadly. “I wish I could,” he whispers, and he really does, he’d much rather stay with his boy in the woods than return, knowing by now his parents will have found his bed empty, “but my family…”

“I understand,” his boy says, squeezing his hand once before letting go. “Go home, poppet.”

And he does, but it doesn’t  _ feel _ like going home. Not when his parents yell, not when he marches up to his room, defeated, not when he’s prohibited from leaving his room the next day. It doesn’t feel like home when there are whispers behind his back of him rebelling, it doesn’t feel like home when no one’s afraid to push him around anymore, and it doesn’t feel like home without his boy. Without the calming sounds of the forest around him, without the soft feeling of his boy’s fingers threading through his hair. He wants to leave. He wants to go. He wants to be  _ happy. _

So he packs a bag.

*****

_ “I have a feeling he’s going to come back tonight.” _

_ “What makes you say that?” _

_ “You look hopeful.” _

_ “Doesn’t guarantee anything, ’Taro.” _

_ “I know. But still. You’ve got that look on your face. It’s funny.” _

_ “Hey!” _

_ “Just teasing.” _

_ “...Okay.” _

_ “You’re not gonna take his name.” _

_ “You sure about that?” _

_ “Yeah. No matter how pissed Ouma gets at your lack of progress with him, you just keep saying you’ll do it eventually.” _

_ “...I just don’t want him to get hurt.” _

_ “I know.” _

*****

Of course, he’s followed when he leaves, but he’s faster, much faster, and he knows the forest far better than anyone else. It’s calling out to him, calling him home. He nearly crashes into his boy when he arrives at the clearing. “Please...take me away from all of this,” he mumbles into his boy’s shoulder, holding the back of his tunic tightly. His boy holds him close. He can hear the thuds of workmen’s boots coming towards them. “I don’t want to go back.”

“Poppet, give me your name,” his boy whispers as the shouts get louder. He clings to his boy tighter. “Please, poppet, you have to be quick. I-I’ll let you know mine in return, alright?”

Every warning of every myth and story flashes through his head, but his boy would never hurt him like that. “Gonta,” he says at last, “my name is Gonta!”

The air feels warm around them as his boy leads him into the fae circle, hands in his. “You’ll be free,” Shuichi whispers, and Gonta wonders whether Shuichi had even said his own name, “we’ll be happy.”

As the world he’d known fades into the distance, he cries, not because he’s scared anymore, but because he’s relieved to be home.


End file.
